Chapter 24 #2
I finished chopping and carried the cutting board to the stove, watching as Min-jun began adding ingredients to a large pot with practiced efficiency. His movements were almost musical — rhythmic and confident, each action flowing seamlessly into the next.
"How long have you been cooking?" I asked, genuinely curious as I watched him work, mesmerized by the grace of his movements.
"Since I was eight." He added the vegetables I'd chopped, stirring them gently into the mixture, his eyes focused on the pot.
"My grandmother lived with us, and she was always in the kitchen.
I used to sit on the counter and watch her for hours.
" His voice softened with memory, something wistful entering his expression.
"She said I had 'good hands' for cooking. Patient hands."
"She sounds amazing." I said it softly, sensing the weight of what he was sharing, leaning against the counter beside him.
"She was." He reached for a container of broth, pouring it carefully into the pot, his movements slowing slightly.
"She passed three years ago. Right before we had our first big comeback.
" He paused, something painful flickering across his features, his jaw tightening.
"I couldn't go to her funeral. We had schedules. The company said we couldn't postpone."
"Min-jun..." I touched his arm without thinking, wanting to offer comfort, my fingers curling around his forearm.
"It's okay." He covered my hand with his, squeezing briefly before returning to his cooking, though his eyes remained distant.
"I've made peace with it. Mostly. But this recipe—" He gestured at the pot, his voice thick with emotion, "—this is the last thing she taught me.
Right before she got sick. Like she knew she wouldn't have another chance. "
My throat tightened at his words, at the quiet grief underneath them, my eyes stinging. "That's why it's important to you."
"That's why it's important." He confirmed, finally looking at me with those warm hazel eyes, now shimmering slightly with unshed tears. "And that's why I wanted to share it with you. Because you're important too. And I want..." He trailed off, seeming to search for words, his brow furrowing.
"Want what?" I prompted gently, stepping closer to him.
"I want you to have something of mine." He said it simply, but the weight behind the words made my chest ache, his voice rough with sincerity.
"Not just music or performances or the version of me that exists for cameras.
Something that's actually mine." I stared at him, overwhelmed by the gift he was offering — not just a recipe, but a piece of his history, his grief, his love for someone he'd lost.
"I don't know what to say." I admitted, my voice thick, the words feeling inadequate.
"You don't have to say anything." He turned back to the stove, but I caught the way his ears had gone pink, the way his hands trembled slightly. "Just help me stir. The noodles need to go in soon."
We cooked together for the next hour, and I learned more about Min-jun in that time than I had in all our previous interactions combined.
I learned that he hummed while he cooked — old songs, mostly, things his grandmother used to sing.
I learned that he was meticulous about seasoning, tasting constantly and adjusting until everything was perfect.
I learned that he laughed easily when I made mistakes — like when I accidentally added too much gochugaru and we had to balance it out with sugar.
"You're not hopeless." He declared as we finally ladled the finished budae-jjigae into bowls, steam rising in fragrant clouds, his smile wide and genuine. "You're actually quite good at this. With practice."
"You're being generous." I accepted the bowl he handed me, inhaling deeply and feeling my stomach growl in response, the aroma making my mouth water. "But I'll take it."
"I'm being honest." He guided me to the small table in the corner of the kitchen, pulling out a chair for me before taking his own seat across from me, his movements courteous and attentive. "Try it. Tell me what you think."
I took a careful bite, and flavor exploded across my tongue — spicy and savory and sweet all at once, warming me from the inside out. It tasted like comfort. Like home. Like something I hadn't known I was missing until it was right in front of me.
"Oh my god." I took another bite, then another, unable to stop myself, practically moaning around my spoon. "This is incredible. This is the best thing I've ever eaten."
"It's good, right?" He was watching me eat with obvious pleasure, his own bowl momentarily forgotten, his eyes bright with satisfaction. "My grandmother's secret is the cheese. Most people don't add enough, but she always said—"
"That cheese makes everything better?" I guessed around a mouthful, too hungry to worry about manners.
"That food should make you feel loved." He corrected gently, finally taking a bite of his own, his expression softening as the familiar flavors hit his tongue. "Cheese is just how she showed it."
We ate in comfortable silence, the simple domesticity of the moment wrapping around me like a warm blanket. It struck me suddenly how normal this felt — sitting in a kitchen, sharing a meal, existing in someone's space without performance or pretense.
"This is nice." I said it without thinking, then felt my cheeks heat at how simple it sounded, how inadequate. "I mean — this. The cooking. The eating. Just... being."
"It is nice." Min-jun agreed, his voice soft, his hazel eyes warm as they met mine across the table. "I don't get to do this often. Cook for someone who isn't the pack, I mean. Share this with someone new."
"Why not?" I set down my spoon, genuinely curious, leaning forward slightly.
"Because cooking is personal for me." He met my eyes across the table, something vulnerable in his gaze, his hands stilling on his bowl. "It's how I take care of people. How I show love. And for a long time, I wasn't sure I'd ever have someone outside the pack to share that with."
The rose pink bond pulsed warmly in my chest, and I felt something through it — hope, tenderness, a cautious sort of joy.
"Min-jun." I reached across the table and took his hand, feeling his fingers interlace with mine, warm and strong. "Thank you. For sharing this with me. For trusting me with something so important."
"Thank you for being here." He squeezed my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm, his touch gentle but sure. "For trying. For letting us in."
We sat like that for a moment, hands linked across the table, the bond humming between us. Then Min-jun's expression shifted, something more intense entering his gaze, his eyes darkening.
"Can I kiss you?" He asked it softly, almost hesitantly, like he wasn't sure of the answer, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes." I said it without hesitation, surprising us both with my certainty. I knew letting them kiss me was fast…but at the same time…these men where my soulmates…so was it really that fast?
He stood from his chair, rounding the table to pull me to my feet, his movements deliberate and sure. His hands found my waist, drawing me close, and for a moment he just looked at me — like he was memorizing my face, like he wanted to remember this exact moment, his eyes tracing every feature.
Then he kissed me.
Min-jun kissed like he cooked — patient, thorough, attentive to every detail.
His lips moved against mine with deliberate care, learning what I liked, adjusting his approach based on every small sound I made.
Where Tae-min had been eager and Hwan had been joyful and Jin-ho had been consuming, Min-jun was gentle.
Nurturing. Like he was trying to take care of me even in this.
I melted into him, my hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath my palms. His scent surrounded me — vanilla and fresh bread, comfort and safety and home.
He deepened the kiss slowly, his tongue sliding against mine, and I made a sound that seemed to spark something in him.
His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me closer, and I felt the careful control he always maintained begin to slip.
"Keira." He breathed my name against my lips, his voice rough in a way I hadn't heard from him before, his chest heaving. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Show me." I whispered back, my fingers curling into his shirt, and watched his eyes darken further.
He kissed me harder, his restraint cracking, and I discovered that underneath all that gentle caretaking was something fiercer. Something hungrier. His hands slid under my shirt, palms warm against my skin, and I arched into his touch with a gasp.
"Is this okay?" He asked it between kisses, his voice strained with the effort of checking in when he clearly wanted to keep going, his forehead pressed against mine.
"More than okay." I pulled him closer, needing to feel more of him, my hands fisting in his shirt. "Don't stop."
He groaned against my mouth, one hand sliding up my spine while the other gripped my hip, and I lost myself in the sensation of him — his warmth, his scent, the way he touched me like I was something precious.
We kissed until I was dizzy with it, until my back was pressed against the counter and his body was flush against mine and I could feel exactly how much he wanted me.
The realization sent heat pooling low in my stomach, and I made a sound that seemed to break something in him.
"We should stop." He pulled back, breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine, his eyes squeezed shut like he was in pain. "Before I can't stop."
"What if I don't want you to stop?" I asked it honestly, feeling bold and reckless, my voice breathless.
Something blazed in his eyes, but he took a deliberate step back, putting space between us, his hands trembling slightly where they still rested on my hips. "Then I need you to tell me that when we're not both running on adrenaline and bond hormones. When you can think clearly."
I stared at him, touched by his restraint even as my body protested the distance, my skin aching for his touch. "You're annoyingly considerate, you know that?"
"So I've been told." He smiled, but it was strained around the edges, his breathing still uneven. "I just want to do this right. You deserve that."
"What if I don't know what 'right' looks like?" I asked it quietly, the vulnerability slipping out before I could stop it, my voice small.
"Then we figure it out together." He took my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm, his lips lingering against my skin.
"There's no rush. We have time." He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me securely, and I let myself sink into the embrace.
His heart was pounding against my ear, matching the rapid rhythm of my own.
"Can I scent you?" He murmured the question into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. "I'd like to mark the back of your neck, if that's okay. It's... more intimate than the wrist. More of a claim."
I thought about it — really thought about it, feeling the weight of what he was asking. The back of the neck was significant. Close to the bonding gland. A statement of intent.
"Yes." I tilted my head forward, giving him access, my heart hammering.
"I want that." I felt him inhale sharply, his whole body tensing momentarily, then his nose brushed against my nape, followed by the warmth of his mouth.
He pressed his scent into my skin slowly, thoroughly, his lips lingering on each pass.
By the time he finished, I could feel his claim sinking into my very bones.
"There." His voice was rough, satisfied, vibrating against my skin. "Now everyone will know."
"Know what?" I asked, slightly dazed, my knees weak.
"That you're ours." He pressed one final kiss to my neck, his lips soft and reverent.
"That you're home." The word hit me like a physical force.
Home. I hadn't had a home in so long — not since my mother died, not since I'd started running from everything that might hurt me.
And now this man was standing in his kitchen, smelling like vanilla and bread and comfort, telling me I was home.
I didn't cry. But it was a close thing.
"Thank you." I turned in his arms, burying my face in his chest, my voice muffled against his shirt. "For today. For the recipe. For... all of it."
"Thank you for being here." He held me close, his chin resting on top of my head, his arms secure around me. "For trying. For letting me take care of you."
We stood like that until the light through the kitchen window turned golden with approaching evening. When we finally separated, I felt something settle in my chest — another piece clicking into place, another bond strengthened.
Four alphas now. Four scents on my skin. Four pieces of my heart that I'd given away without meaning to.
One more to go.